The Gilmore Girl
by Acoustic Juliet
Summary: [AU] [PostSGTDM] [RL] [Full summary inside.] Rory meets four new friends while in Rome with her grandmother, and upon her return to Yale, she discovers that it truly is a small world, after all.
1. I Watch CSpan!

Gilmore Girls AU Post-SGTDM RL Rory is determined to spend her final few days in Europe without a care in the world. And when she meets four new friends, she is even more determined to keep her past and current life under wraps. But upon her return to Yale, she learns that it really is a small world, after all.

Disclaimer: All characters and situations from Gilmore Girls are properties of Amy Sherman-Palladino, Dorothy Parker Drank Here Productions, and Hofflund/Polone, in association with Warner Bros. Television. No copyright infringement intended.

Author's Note: It has been done before. The alternate universe fan fiction based on how Rory and Logan first meet. Well, I've decided to take my own spin on things. This story specifically takes place post-Say Goodbye to Daisy Miller. Rory is in Rome with Emily when she unexpectedly meets Logan and his friends. The story unfolds from there.

And a special thanks to for providing links to the Say Goodbye to Daisy Miller transcript.

Read and review! Constructive criticism is welcomed.

The Gilmore Girl

**I. I Watch CSpan!**

"Live a little,"

It had commenced with those words. _Live_ a little. Who was he to tell me I hadn't lived? He didn't know me. He didn't even know who I was or where I'd come from. He didn't even know the true reason I had even come to Rome to start with. He didn't know that back home in Stars Hollow I'd rendezvoused with Dean, an ex-love, while he was married to a former classmate of ours. He didn't know about Yale or that multi-thousand dollar trust fund I was bestowed. He didn't know about me, at all. So who was this man to tell me that I hadn't lived?

And the worst of it; he was right on the dot about me. I hadn't lived. I envied him and his friends. I resented them and their ability to live in the moment without fear or favor. I wanted nothing more than to live like them, to be one of them, to feel the rush they did each and every time a new adventure came within reach; and even if one hadn't, they would seek one out until it did.

But there I was, naïve and obstinate. I wanted to hate them, but I couldn't. They were the most exhilarating individuals I had ever come into contact with and as much as I wanted to disassociate myself from them and their thrillingly destructive ways, I couldn't so much as move a muscle in a direction that wasn't toward them. In short, he and his friends were all that I was not and who I desperately wanted to become.

I followed Grandma into our suite, exhausted from the early-morning flight from Florence. The concierge and bellhops piled into the common room with our belongings as Grandma studied the walls.

"Hallo, and here we are—room 518," said the concierge. Grandma grimaced almost painfully as she examined the interior. "A beautiful room—very special for you, Mrs. Gilmore."

I nodded and looked around. "It's nice," I said.

"It's hot," chirped Grandma.

"I will adjust the air for you," said the concierge hastily. "No problem on my end." He watched Grandma uneasily as she ambled to the balcony, opening the doors to observe the scene. "It's a spectacular view—very nice; a little balcony there."

Grandma frowned and I furrowed my brows as I peered at her, perplexed. "It's different," she announced sullenly.

"Something is different?" said the concierge.

"The view—it's different." said Grandma pointedly.

I walked to where Grandma stood and peered over the ledge of the balcony. The view was utterly brilliant and my mind swirled with the incomprehensible dismay of my grandmother. "Wow, it's pretty spectacular," I said, admiring to ruins in the distance.

"It's not the same," observed Grandma somberly.

The concierge frowned and assured her, "It's the same room you had two years ago, signora—518."

Grandma shook her head and crossed her arms over her stomach. "The ruins—they used to be closer," she said. "Something move?"

"I don't think so," said the concierge, flummoxed.

"The pillar is in a different place."

"I think the ruins are probably where they've been for the past two-thousand years, Grandma." I said, growing agitated by her incessant superciliousness.

"We can get you another room, signora," said the concierge. "No problem."

Pursing her lips, Grandma huffed and walked back into the main room. "No, no; it's fine," she said airily, then frowned. "Smokers."

The concierge registered without delay. "I despise smokers," he said instantaneously.

I shook my head and began shuffling through the luggage cart. "Rory, I told you before," interrupted Grandma, "you do not move luggage."

"Yes, yes, please," interjected the concierge. "We will do that."

"Sorry," I said.

"Your high tea is still at the same time?" inquired Grandma.

"Si, signora."

Grandma nodded briefly and clapped her palms together. The concierge focused on Grandma intently and I had to pry my eyes away to stifle a groan. "We'll need to book some private tours—the Vatican, the Villa Medici. And private—just the two of us," she said, glancing at me momentarily. I feigned excitement at the idea of spending most of my time in one of the most ancient and beautiful cities in the world with a condescending, affluent woman from Hartford. "The concierge in Florence stuck us with a Belgian couple at the Uffizi who didn't know a fresco from a ferret hole. And the ruins, of course. Make sure the guide's not too dry." Absently gazing out of the veranda window, Grandma sighed. "So different." Hurriedly following a luggage-laden bellhop into another room, she added, "The hanging bags should be hung, not laid on the bed!"

Turning to the concierge, I said, "Excuse me, how far away are we from the catacombs?"

"Close," he said dismissively, "but your grandmother would not like the catacombs. Bones disturb her."

"It's for me," I said. "My grandmother usually takes a nap this time of day, so I go off and do my own thing."

"Ah, yes, a nap," hummed the concierge.

"We need two more pillows," said Grandma, briskly returning from the bedroom to the common room.

"I will see to it," said the concierge. "Anything else I can do?"

"That should do it," said Grandma. "Thank you, Luciano."

"Yeah, thank you very much."

"Grazie mille," he said. "Buona notte. Good evening. Thank you."

"Let's sit down and pick our restaurants," said Grandma as we made our way over to one of the sofas. "That's three nights—that's three lunches and three dinners. We'll take our usual passeggiata around the Piazza Navona, but let's pick the restaurants." Ardently, Grandma sifts through a heap of brochures.

"Do you want to pick them before your nap or after?"

"I'm skipping my nap today," she said; I frowned and furrowed my eyebrows.

"Oh, really," I said disappointedly.

"Absolutely," she said. "I'm not the least bit tired."

"Oh, good," I said dryly.

"Couldn't hide it any better than that, huh?"

I looked up and noted Grandma's coy smile. "Hide what?"

"I don't take my nap, you don't get to go out on your own," she said.

"Grandma, I wasn't thinking that." I scoffed, desperately trying to convince her otherwise.

"Well, I was kidding," she said dismissively. "I'm exhausted. I'm not sure I'll even make it to the bedroom. I may just drop down here on the carpet."

I grinned and stood. "Thank you, Grandma," I said. "It's all cultural stuff, I promise; just kind of faster and funkier."

"Well, go enjoy your funk."

"Thank you." I kissed her cheek and ambled toward the luggage cart.

"Mm-hmm," she mustered. "Say, when was the last time we called your mother?"

"Not sure." I said, as I secured a messenger bag over my shoulder.

Grandma took a moment to sort out this information. "Have we called her this week?" she asked.

"I think you did," I said.

"We'll call when you come back," said Grandma.

"Okay, 'bye," I muttered, rushing to get out of the suite and away from questions regarding my mother or one that would inevitably require me to have a conversation with her.

"'Bye-'bye."

The air was warm and thick outside. I immediately felt like a tourist on a quest for self-discovery. The last time I had been here with my mother, I'd felt so at ease. But roaming a foreign city on your own when you don't speak the language is rather daunting. And there was absolutely not turning back now. I couldn't face my mother, not at this point. She wouldn't understand—she _didn't_ understand. The sad part was: neither did I. I couldn't understand my very own actions; and yet I had been the one who'd instigated them in the first place. But I wasn't a Gilmore girl for no reason at all. I was obstinate from birth. It's a trait my mother, her mother and her mother before that had all acquired from one generation or another. And here I was, in a foreign city, alone, uncertain, utterly bemused and perplexed.

"Watch out!"

I turned toward the bellowing voice and found that I immediately regretted that move. A round, blue plastic disc had crashed against my forehead and the collision stung. I winced and stared bewildered at the Frisbee lying on the ground beside my sneaker-clad feet. Bending over to pick it up, I then searched for the mysterious thrower.

"Over hear," a voice called out. I turned toward it. A relatively short man with brown hair and a polo sweater stood a mere few feet away. Behind him was a thin blond with impeccable curls coursing delicately over her shoulders. She smirked and chucked to herself as the man frowned in my direction. He seemed not much older than me, perhaps; but his almost too-serious stature threw me off, as he appeared to be a businessman on a weekend getaway with the Mrs. "Are you going to stare at me like a deer caught in headlights much longer, because I'd very much like my Frisbee back,"

"Oh, sorry," I stuttered. His bluntness caught me off guard. I tossed it back to him and smiled nervously. "Here,"

"Thanks," he said monotonously, turning toward the blond.

"You okay?" asked the blond, still smirking.

"Yeah, I'm okay," I said, nodding, then smoothing out my short brown hair. All of the sudden I wished I had long, curly hair like hers, and felt almost embarrassed by my short, pin-straight locks.

"That's good to hear," said another male voice from somewhere to my left.

"Excuse me?" I stammered.

"I would hate to have to inform my lawyers that I'd Frisbee'd an unsuspecting American tourist to death." His friends laughed and I stood, fidgeting with my sleeves. "You _are_ American, aren't you?"

"As are you," I assumed aloud. He nodded and smiled. And I was sure I'd never seen such a perfect set of teeth in my entire life. His dark blond hair was tussled in a way that was just right, his hazel eyes seemed to speak their own vernacular, and his tall stature made me feel suddenly very small.

"I am," he said. "I'm Logan, by the way."

"Rory," I said. He stretched out his arm and I shook his hand for a brief moment. "You should consider yourself lucky that I don't have some sort of a concussion. Could you imagine the headlines? I mean, it's not every day that a girl is Frisbee'd into a coma, especially in the Piazza Navona."

"No, I guess not," he replied, grinning. "It was nice meeting you, Rory."

"You too," I offered.

"No way, mate," exclaimed another unfamiliar voice from behind, this one with a definite non-American accent. "You always get first dibs on the hot foreign girls. It's not fair. Share them, will you?"

"Finn," chuckled Logan, placing his arm over the tall brunette's shoulders. "This is Rory, she's from the US."

Finn's smile fell. "Oh," he uttered. "Well, damn it, Logan; you dragged us around the world for the past year and I've only gotten laid by twenty different females. I might as well become celibate."

"We'll be home in a week," said Logan, chuckling lightly. "My friend Finn, here, hasn't done all that well with the foreign ladies. But given that he's Australian and he's bagged most of New England's most eligible bachelorettes, I think that's one foreign claim he's mistakenly forgotten to acknowledge."

"It doesn't count as a foreign when you've been living there for two years, Logan," explained Finn. I nodded, bemused, and watched their banter continue.

"Guys, guys," the blond stepped in, "enough. We have yet to see the Pantheon, and you promised me this would be an enlightening trip with a minimal reliance on booze and promiscuous sex."

"We lied," said Finn, disentangling himself from Logan's grasp. "I haven't been sober since 2003, love."

"Rory, is it?" questioned the blond, ignoring Finn. I nodded. "I'm Stephanie. But everyone calls me Steph. But I'm positively convinced it's because ninety-nine percent of my friends are males, and they're usually too drunk to muster a full three syllables in one breath."

"Is that right?" I inquired.

She nodded and chuckled lightly. "So, _Rory_, where are you from?" asked Steph.

"I'm from . . ." My voice trailed off as thoughts of my mother and Dean and my whole life in Stars Hollow and Hartford and now New Haven clouded my vision. This was my one chance to change my past, even if only for a moment. "I'm from upstate New York."

"Upstate New York, huh?" said Logan. "I would've taken you for a New Englander, but I guess that's my own misjudgment." I laughed uneasily and silently implored a change of topic. "We're from Connecticut." He turned to Finn and then back toward me. "Except Finn. He's from Melbourne."

"As in Australia?"

"As in Australia." Logan nodded.

"That's pretty cool," I said. "I've always wanted to visit there."

"Don't tell Finn," said Logan under his breath.

"Okay," I whispered coyly, as bewildered as I was.

"Where were you headed to?"

"Logan, don't pry," said Steph.

"Oh, no, it's all right," I said. "No where specific, I guess. I'm sort of winging it." Another lie. But no one had to know, and certainly not any strangers.

"You should come with us," piped Finn.

"Finn!" barked Colin. "You can't just pick up strange girls in the middle of Italy. It's unnatural."

"Maybe for you," chirped Finn.

"I don't want to intrude," I said.

"You wouldn't be," said Logan.

"She would be," snapped Colin.

"Shut up," said Logan, scowling in his direction. Colin turned his back to us, obtrusively frustrated.

"I really don't want to intrude,"

Logan sighed, his hands now in his pockets as he leaned toward me. It was an almost too-perfect situation. His breath was against my ear and I involuntarily leaned toward his warmth. "I want you to," he whispered. "So what do you say? You in or out, Rory?"

I paused and looked around. I had no idea who these people were or where they came from. They were strangers. I was a stranger. And this was the ideal situation.

"I'm in,"

"Good," said Logan, his arm now around my shoulders, clutching me slightly. "Let's get going, then,"

"Let's get going," I repeated, more to myself than to any of them.

"You here alone, Rory?"

"I'm spending time with my Grandma, actually," Logan nodded as we walked toward a black Lincoln. "Is that yours?" Wide-eyed, I pointed at the car and stared in blatant disbelief. "You rented a car?"

"And a driver," said Logan.

"You have _got_ to be kidding me," I turned to Logan and furrowed my brows. "This must have cost you a fortune!"

"Well, yes," he said, bemused. "But if it's any consolation, the four of us split the bill."

"I'm sorry," I quickly muttered. "I'm just not used to this."

"You're from a humble background," Colin mustered from behind us.

I whipped around, as did Logan. "Cool it, man," he said.

"It depends on how you look at it," I said, not acknowledging his friend's rude comment. "My mom didn't raise me in riches, but she definitely comes from it. She just didn't want me to have the high-society life that she had."

"Well, to tell you the truth," Logan began, "you didn't miss out on much."

"He lies," drawled Steph as she linked her arm with mine. "Money is great. I won't lie. But I'm not your typical rich bitch, I swear."

She smiled and winked before ducking into the car.

"After you," I looked at Logan momentarily before briefly nodding and heading into the car, taking a seat beside Steph. "This might be a tight fit," Logan groaned as he sat next to me. I suddenly felt very insecure. "I hope you don't mind. Steph, sit on Colin's lap; give Rory some breathing space."

"Screw you, Huntzberger," spat Steph, though she allowed Colin to slide in from the opposite door and situate himself beneath her. Finn sat in the passenger seat beside the driver, toying with the man's black cap.

"Where to next, boys?" bellowed Finn.

"No need to yell," said Steph, swatting his arm.

"Who's yelling?"

Logan laughed and for a moment, his leg brushed against mine. Apprehension tugged at my skin and I felt my breathing become staggered. "You okay, Rory?" He leaned in close once more and my voice had seemed to flee from my throat. I could merely nod. "Good."

"Bungee jumping!"

"No way, Finn," dismissed Colin. "Not since my last experience jumping off a bridge with you." Colin turned his head to face me. "We did partners. Steph wasn't there but our other friend Robert was. Logan had Robert to jump with and I was stuck with Finn."

"And Logan is way more secure with his sexuality that Colin is," joked Steph, gripping his arms which embraced her from behind.

"What's that about my sexuality?" asked Logan.

"Logan, you'll jump with me, won't you?"

"I don't know, Finn," said Logan, shaking his head. "You've had enough tequila to keep every clinic in the States in business for the next ten years. I'm not sure I want to trust you with this two-hundred-fifty dollar investment."

"Your shirt cost that much money?" I questioned incredulously.

"Humble . . ."

"Shut up, Colin," Steph elbowed him in the gut.

"Rory, you'll jump with me, won't you, love?"

"Finn, she hardly knows you!" laughed Logan.

"That didn't stop her from jumping into a car with four strangers, did it? Rory's an adventuress, clearly, Logan."

"I'm no adventuress, trust me."

"C'mon, love, it's just me."

"Finn," warned Logan.

"I'll jump with you, Finn," said Steph.

"Steph!"

"What? Colin, just because you're afraid, doesn't mean we all are. If I won't bungee off a bridge with an inebriated Australian, then I'm going to."

"I really don't think you know what you've gotten yourself into," I whispered into her ear.

Logan burst into laughter beside me and I felt a rush of blood course to my cheeks. "It looks like Rory is an adventuress after all!" exclaimed Finn.

"You have no idea," I mustered quietly.

It seemed like hours before we had gotten to a bridge over water. "How the hell did you know about this place?" I asked.

"We've been here before," said Logan, helping me from the car.

"This is beautiful." I took in the sight before me. "We're definitely still in Italy, right?"

"Yes, we're still in Italy," chuckled Logan. That smile could kill, I swear. I eyed him and pushed my hands into my back pockets as we walked toward the ledge where Finn and Steph were already being latched into the appropriate equipment. "So are you going to jump or what, Rory?"

I turned to him hastily, my heart pounding. "You're crazy!"

"I thought you were an adventuress?"

"I denied it," I argued. "You enforced it."

"You're afraid, then," he countered.

"Heck yes, I'm afraid," I whined, gesticulating toward Finn and Steph as they plummeted toward the river.

"There's nothing to be afraid of," he spoke with such reserve.

"Right," I began facetiously, "because jumping off a bridge with nothing but a thin rope to keep you from smacking head-first into a raging river isn't anything to feel the slightest bit apprehensive about."

Logan moved toward me bit by bit, his eyes blazing. "Don't you trust me?"

"Trust you!" I exclaimed. "I don't even know you!"

"And yet you got into a car with me and drove hours outside of Rome to watch my friends jump off of a bridge?" he counteracted. "Come on, Rory. You can't seriously tell me that the idea of doing something so liberating doesn't appeal to you at all?"

"You know what else is appealing? Jumping into a lion's den."

Logan sighed and shook his head. "Live a little, would you?"

"Excuse me?" My brows arched in sheer disbelief.

"Live a little," he repeated.

"I've _been_ living. For the past nineteen years and ten months, in fact!" I placed my hands upon my hips.

"Just because you've been _alive_," said Logan, "doesn't mean you've been _living_."

"I've traveled Europe. I've read Tolstoy. I was Valedictorian of my graduating class. _I_ got into Harvard . . . and Yale! And Princeton!"

"God, you're uptight," Logan heaved.

"I am _not_ uptight!" I cried.

"Rory," he said, "we only live once."

"No kidding," I replied.

"I'm just saying, _live_," he said. "Live now. Don't wait for life to catch up to you. Don't wait until it's too late. Don't wait until your father's got you three thousand miles from home in an office where people will be too afraid of you to tell you, 'Hey, Huntzberger—you suck. Tell your dad to find a suitable heir."

"I'm just not comfortable—"

"Life's all about breaking out of your comfort zone," he interjected, "stepping out of the lines."

I remained silent for a moment to contemplate his words. "Why are you so invested in this?" I finally questioned.

"In what?" he asked.

"In me," I said. "In getting me to jump off a bridge with you. You're not in some super-secret cult, are you?"

"Not a cult," he mumbled.

"Okay . . ."

"I just hate to see life wasted," he said, grasping me gently by the shoulder.

"I'm not wasting my life, Logan." I said dramatically. "I'm at one of the best colleges in the world. I'm on the paper. I'm going to be a journalist. I watch CSpan!"

"Okay, you've got me there. CSpan and all—who could top that?"

I glared at him momentarily before turning on my heels and stomping over to the instructors. Finally, I glanced toward Logan and found his solid stare. "You coming or what?" Smiling, Logan ambled toward me. "What about your two hundred and fifty dollar shirt?" Logan eyes me skeptically and then stepped back. And before I knew it, he was shirtless, the two hundred and fifty dollar shirt tossed carelessly to the ground. The instructors latched us in. "Don't make me regret this."

Logan's arms secured around my waist, and I tucked mine underneath his shoulders and around his back. The side of his face pressed against mine, I breathed in his scent: outdoorsy and peppermint. "You ready? On the count of three . . . One,"

"Two . . ."

"Three!"

We hurdled toward the river and I knew that I was screaming, but the only things I could hear were our in sync heartbeats, rushed and erratic. As the tops of our heads brushed against the water, I clutched him harder and he embraced me fully, burrowing his face in the crook of my neck. His laughter was so distinct, so . . . full of _life_.

"I'm going to let us loose now," he said. I nodded against his shoulder and we fell in an instant. The cold water chilled me to the bone and I found myself screeching as I rose to the top. I felt a hand latch on to my forearm. "Logan?" The salt stung my eyes.

"I'm right here," he said, his voice hushed as he held me close. I watched the beads of water drip off of his skin, mesmerized. I heaved a bit as air wavered within me. "I've got you." I clutched his shoulders, my body feeling heavy with my now sodden clothes hugging my skin.

We stayed like this for what seemed like an eternity. There I was, soaked, fully clothed and in the arms of a shirtless man in some Italian body of water. I was with a total stranger, yet I had never felt so exhilarated, so alive . . . so utterly at peace.

"You guys going to come out any time soon, or what?" I glanced up toward Steph and felt overwhelmed by shyness. "Get a room, lovebirds!" Logan snickered and the sound reverberated against my skin.

I tried pulling away from him, but he merely held me tighter. Brushing loose strands of hair behind my ear, I slowly peered at him through glossy eyes. "Uh . . . we should probably get out of the water now."

"All right," he said, abruptly releasing me from his grasp. I immediately dropped into the water and gesticulated wildly to reach the surface. Pulling me flush against him, Logan eyes swept over me, evident with worry. "Crap, I'm sorry. You okay?" I nodded fervently, though I held onto him firmly. "I honestly figured you could swim."

"I can," I said with a drop of sarcasm, "when I'm warned ahead of time that someone is going to drop me into cold saltwater."

"Again, I'm sorry,"

"Don't be. It's fine." My voice was hushed. I subconsciously traced the droplets of water on his shoulder with my fingertips, stopping abruptly when he shuddered. "Sorry," I muttered.

"Don't be," he said, smirking. "It's fine."

We swam to the edge of the water and climbed a tower of rocks toward the side of the bridge. Logan helped me to the top, holding my hand as I took my last few steps.

"So, bungee jumping?" I stared at him, transfixed. "What's next—leaping off the Leaning Tower of Piza?"

"If you're ready, I'm willing," he said.

"I wasn't serious, Logan," I whispered, turning away and blushing profusely.

"It's okay not to be serious all of the time."

I whipped my head round to glare at him icily. "I never said it wasn't."

"I never said you ever said it wasn't." He smirked and I stared at him, bemused and unbelievably inquisitive.

"Well, okay . . . then, good." Logan snatched his shirt from the ground and quickly tugged it on.

It was then that Steph approached us, grinning. Slinging her arm through Logan's, she said, "Where to next, guys?"

"I should probably head back to the hotel," I said. "My grandmother is most likely going ballistic. I'm usually back by now. I haven't even checked my cell to see if she's called!" I frantically searched for my cell as I grabbed my messenger bag from the ground.

"Your grandmother sounds like a total drag," said Steph.

"She's just a little uptight sometimes," I reasoned, dialing my voicemail. Four missed calls and three new voice messages. Without even bothering to listening to more than a syllable from each, I hastily deleted all of them.

"You should come to dinner with us, Rory," said Logan as we pulled away from the bridge and onto a main road.

"I can't . . ."

"Come on," said Steph, "I'm sure your grandmother wouldn't mind."

"I seriously cannot bail on this woman; you don't understand."

"I'll talk to her," offered Logan.

"No way!"

"Then Finn'll talk to her," he said.

"Absolutely not!" I exclaimed. "Are you crazy?"

"Come on, Rory," said Logan, his countenance calm and sober. "Come have dinner with us."

"I want to," I admitted quietly.

"Then come with us," he persisted. "Do something for you. Your grandmother has had you all summer and she'll have you for the rest of the trip, too. Just come to dinner with us. I swear we'll have you back before curfew."

"I do not have a curfew," I said defensively. "But it is getting late."

"Rory . . ."

"Logan . . ."

"I want you to have dinner with us," he said, his tone quiet, yet stern.

"Okay," I uttered meekly. I searched for my cell phone inside of my messenger bag and immediately dialed the room number upon pulling it out and flipping it open. "Grandma?" I said when she answered.

"Rory," she practically exclaimed, "where in God's name are you?"

"I'm out with . . . friends," I replied, noting my own skepticism.

"Friends? Where on earth did you meet friends in the middle of Italy?"

"I'm going to have dinner with them," I said, evading her comment, "if that's all right."

"Rory, I don't know these people."

"Grandma," I sighed, "I swear they're not serial killers . . . at least, I think they're not." Steph snickered and I motioned for her to hush.

"Finn's rather questionable," joked Colin, as he stalked ahead. "Don't you think?"

"Grandma, I'll be fine. I swear." I reassured. "It's just one dinner, okay?"

"Fine, all right," she said, defeated. "But please don't be back too late. I'm a light sleeper, you know."

"Thank you, Grandma!" I beamed and flipped closed my cell.

"So, you're coming?" asked Logan.

"I can't go like this," I said, motioning to my drenched clothing. "I'm sopping wet!"

"We all have to change," said Steph. "We'll pick you up around eight-thirty."

"Okay," I said.

"Men and fine, fine women, we're heading back now!" exclaimed Finn from the passenger seat of the car.

"Hey," I said, holding Logan's arm to keep him in place. "Thanks for doing this. Thanks for making me, you know, take the dive, if you will."

He looked at me and smiled. "No problem," he said. Colin gesticulated toward him, motioning to Logan that he wanted to speak with him. Jogging ahead, Steph caught my wrist to keep me back.

"Rory," she said, grinning, her blond hair now clinging to her face and shoulders.

"Yeah?"

"You interested in Logan?"

My eyes widened as I contemplated her question. "No, why?"

Steph eyed me with sheer concern, her countenance stern and grave. "Just . . . Look, you seem like a really nice girl. And Logan's . . . Logan's a typical wealthy egotist from Hartford."

"Hart-ford?" I stuttered.

"He's not a relationship sort of guy," continued Steph, ignoring my shock. "And he's very . . . promiscuous."

"Promiscuous?" I said, cocking an eyebrow.

"Right," she said, nodding. "So be careful. You seem like a nice girl. Don't . . . give it up for someone like Logan. I mean, he's a great friend. But . . . just don't . . . give it up for him."

"Give it . . . ?" I said, trailing off. After a beat, I stared at her wildly. "You think I'm a _virgin_?"

"Uh . . . aren't you?" Steph stared at me blankly.

"No!" I hissed.

"No?"

"I've had sex."

"Really?"

"Yes," I said. Steph watched me and pursed her lips, brows furrowed.

"Promiscuous sex?" she inquired.

"With a married man." I stated, surprised by my blunt honesty.

"Rory! You devil!" she chirped, swatting my arm.

"It wasn't like that," I chuckled. "He was my ex-boyfriend from high school. He got married young. _Really_ young. It was a one-time thing. My mother found out and, well, things have sucked from thereon out." I paused, silently kicking myself. "Uh, don't tell anyone I told you that."

"Steph, Rory—let's go!" called Logan.

"Coming!" replied Steph. As we walked, she grabbed hold of my arm and stared me directly in the eyes. "Rory, look . . . just don't get your hopes up."

"My hopes aren't even down!" I insisted.

"I'm just saying," she drawled.

"Let's go, you two!"

Steph sighed as we neared the car. "Just try not to start something you won't be able to handle."

I groaned in frustration. "I don't even know Logan! What makes you think I'm going to sleep with him? Let alone kiss him!"

Steph snickered at my outburst. "Have you opened you eyes? Every girl he's ever met is after him."

"You're not." I stated matter-of-factly.

"One, we grew up together. Weird. And, two, I've had my moments. And three, have you not noticed the relentless flirtation between Colin and me? Come on, Harvard; use that brain of yours."

Don't tell her about Yale, I reminded myself.

_It isn't like I didn't get into Harvard, anyway._

I watched Steph in utter bemusement as she skipped toward the town car. Yes, I was intrigued by Logan—but sleeping with him? I didn't know him. And the fact that our friendship—or whatever it was—had started on the platform of a lie couldn't possibly prelude good things to come?

. . . Could it?

"Rory, let's go!"

I peered at Logan with cautious eyes. There was something about him; something I couldn't yet seem to grasp. But his eyes . . . descriptive, powerful, like he was attempting to tell me a story—I would never forget his eyes.

"I'm coming, I'm coming,"

"Which hotel are you staying in, Rory?" said Steph as we approached the city a couple of hours later.

"The Hotel di Rinascimento," I replied.

"You're kidding," Steph gawked at me momentarily.

"No," I said, "no, I'm not."

"That's where we are," said Logan. I stared at him for a second or two, his eyes catching mine. For a brief moment in time, I was lost.

"Wow, small world, huh?" I could hardly find my voice.

"Really small," he said softly.

"So, Rory," said Steph as we pulled in front of the main entrance of the hotel. "We'll come knocking on your door around eight-thirty, all right?"

"Would you guys mind if I came to you?" I asked, stepping out of the car.

"Any reason in particular?" said Logan.

"My grandmother's kind of fastidious. High society woman, and all," I explained. I walked with them through the gold-plated doors. "I just don't want her to bug any of you." Translation: I don't want to find out if she knows any of your parents or grandparents. And I certainly don't want any of you to find out that I'm a Yale student who also happens to be a Gilmore girl.

"Oh, I totally understand," said Steph, lightly patting my forearm.

"Cool," I said.

"We're in the penthouse suite upstairs," mentioned Steph as we headed toward the elevators.

"The penthouse suite?"

"It's just a _bit_ more expensive than the others," said Colin suggestively.

"I see," I responded with mild bashfulness.

"Don't be an ass, Colin," interpolated Logan while I was in mid-sentence. I blushed profusely at his attempt to defend me.

"See you soon, Rory!" exclaimed Steph as I headed out of the elevator minutes later.

"'Bye!"

"Rory," I turned to find Logan staring suspiciously in my direction, stepping out of the elevator along with me. His friends watched him inquisitively, though as the doors shut behind him, their stares disappeared as soon as they did. "You're not a criminal on the run, are you?"

"You're serious?" I chuckled in slight amusement.

"There's something about you," he said slowly. "Something . . . surreptitious."

"Enlighten me, O Wise One."

"I'm having hard time figuring you out," he stated, as if his words were a mere observation, rather than something to offend.

"Maybe that's because this is the one time in my life that I don't want to be read like an open book," I answered with sheer honesty. "For once, I just want to be unafraid of anything and anyone. I just want to be Rory, no holds barred. That okay with you?"

"Definitely," he said, grinning. "'Bye, Rory,"

"'Bye," I turned from him and headed down the corridor. Reluctantly opening the door to the (non-penthouse) suite, I practically tiptoed through the common room toward the bedroom.

"Rory, is that you?" called Grandma as she stalked into the common room.

"It's me, Grandma," I said, groaning inwardly.

"Are you back from dinner?" she asked, peering at me with tired eyes.

"No," I said. "I'm here to get ready, actually."

Looking me over, she said (with frightening reserve), "Why are your clothes wet?"

I contemplated a plausible reason that didn't have to involve the truth. "Water fight, Grandma," I offered.

"A water fight?" she said, her tone harsh. "Well that's productive."

I nodded, wanting to be anywhere but there. "It was a silly thing to do with my friends."

"Hmm," she hummed, eying me still.

"I need to change for dinner," I said, heading hastily for my room.

"Rory . . ." she sighed.

"I have to get ready, Grandma." I closed the door to my room immediately upon entering it and walked to the bed, falling on top of it. Sighing, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, rolling onto my side to view the bedside clock.

I had an hour to shower and change.

Grandma scowled as I emerged from the bathroom. My hair still damp, I toweled it furiously and prayed it would stay calm throughout the evening. I opted for a snug blue sweater and a pair of jeans. And Grandma couldn't help but notice. "That doesn't look entirely appropriate for an evening meal," she hissed.

I evaded her comment and shrugged. "It's dinner with friends," I said. "I don't need to wear a skirt and blouse out to dinner with friends."

"Your mother's etiquette, I'm sure," she grumbled, turning away and flipping through a book she had brought with her on the trip.

"I won't be back too late," I said, pocketing a thin leather wallet. "I'll have my cell on, if you need to reach me." With that, I exited the room.

Nerves churned within my stomach as I approached the penthouse's common room door. Knocking apprehensively, within a minute Steph appeared on the other end.

"Rory, you look incredible!" said Steph upon opening the door and looking me over. I smiled and blushed, as she stepped aside to allow me entry.

"Oh, really? " I said sheepishly. "Thanks. Uh, so do you,"

"Hello, there, Rory," said Finn, before downing a cocktail.

"Hi, Finn," I sniggered.

"Rory," clucked Colin.

"Colin," I nodded.

"Logan, a little slower, please," chided Steph.

"Is Rory here yet?" Logan trotted down the spiral staircase, buttoning his sleeves.

"I'm here!" I chirped. He smiled as his gaze fell upon mine.

"Hey, you," he said, smirking.

"Hey,"

"So I guess this means we're ready," commented Logan.

"Guess it does," I answered.

"You look great, by the way," complimented Logan as he gently placed his arm around my shoulders, guiding me toward the door.

"Thanks," I said, "you look good too."

"Just good?" he asked, grinning.

"Is there enough room in your bed for you and that ego?"

He laughed and I smiled. "Hardly," he replied.

"Good to know," I said, walking out the door behind Steph, Colin and Finn, with Logan right behind me.

"Is it," he asked lightly, closing the door after us.

The drive to the restaurant was spent reminiscing about the previous expedition to the bridge. I sat between Colin, Steph and Logan once again, with Finn in the passenger seat. Logan sat particularly close, I had noted, but decided not to think much of it.

The restaurant was ridiculously fancy. I felt immediately out of place upon entering the vicinity. I sat between Steph and Logan, and it was merely seconds before the waiter came and offered us our menus.

"So, Rory, tell us about yourself," said Steph, after the waiter collected our orders.

"There's not much to know," I insisted.

"Oh, come on. A Harvard student—you must be a genius." _Harvard_ . . . _right_ . . .

"Oh," I began, "I don't know about that."

Forty-five minutes passed fluidly as Steph, Logan and the two of their friends inquired about my life and me.

"What's your major?" inquired Steph.

"English," I answered honestly.

"Are you a writer?" she asked.

"Sort of," I said. "I want to be a journalist."

"Oh, hey, Logan knows a lot about that stuff," chirped Steph excitedly, elbowing me gently in the side.

"A thing or two," agreed Logan.

"You look like you could be a reporter," said Steph.

"Do I?"

"Yes, definitely," she said. "Very mysterious."

"Interesting," I said, nodding.

"You kind of have that Hildy Johnson look going on for you." Steph nodded toward me and smiled. I snickered at her comment as the waiter served us our meals.

"Huh, I've never heard that one before," I chuckled. "Oh, wow—this food looks good." I inhaled the distinct Italian aroma.

"Dig in, Ace," said Logan, grinning. I took his advice and wrapped a chunk of fettuccini around my fork.

"How is it?" he asked, testing out his own meal.

"Amazing," I moaned just as my cell began ringing. I jumped, startled, and reached into my pocket. "Oh—that's me." I flipped open the phone and frowned. "It's my mom."

Logan cocked a brow. "Your mom?"

I huffed and rolled my eyes. "I do _not_ want to answer it."

"I'll answer it!" shouted Finn, pointing to the phone.

I shook my head and sniggered. "I'd rather not have to explain to her who the drunken Australian was that answered my phone while I was half-way around the world."

Finn furrowed his brows and his countenance showed mock hurt. "Oh, come on, love," he implored.

"No, Finn,"

"Just answer it, Ace," said Logan soothingly.

I stared at him for a moment, the phone still sounding in my hand. "Fine," I said, standing. "I'll be right back." I headed toward the corridor of the dining room and clicked the phone on, bringing it to my ear. "Mom?"

A gasp. "She speaks!"

"What do you want?" I knew my tone was harsh; but I wanted it to be made blatantly clear how hurt and ticked off I was about this whole entire excursion.

"Ouch," she sighed.

"It's close to ten," I announced, wanting desperately to speed along the conversation.

"I'm sorry," she began, obviously irritated, "I didn't realize my nineteen-year-old daughter had a ten o'clock bedtime. Did you stay up late to watch _The Jetsons_ again?"

"I'm out to dinner, is all," I said, bouncing back and forth from heel to toe for a moment, anxious to get back to the table.

"With Grandma?"

"With . . . friends . . ."

"Friends? Friends in Rome?"

"I ran into friends in Rome, yes," I said, exasperated.

"Last time I checked," she said, "Lane was still secure in Stars Hollow,"

"I have more than one friend, Mom," I ensured.

"Grandma is going bonkers," said Mom, changing to topic.

"Now?"

"In general. She called to tell me she's suspicious of your behavior and wanted to know how she should approach it."

I huffed and felt the urge to laugh out loud. "Grandma asked you for advice?"

"She said you brushed her off. Then she muttered something about me and Christmas Eve when I was fifteen."

"Huh," I breathed, placing a hand on my hip.

"What's going on, kid? You sneaking out after dark?"

"No, I'm with friends," I said. "I've been with Grandma this whole trip. I'm not trying to ditch her. But I met friends, okay? And they invited me out for dinner. I'm sure Grandma could fend for herself one night."

"I'm sure she could too. She's like a cockroach."

I sighed and peered into the dining room and spotted my friends chattering. Logan turned his head a bit and spotted me staring. Smiling, he waved and I instantaneously blushed. "I have to go, Mom, my food's getting cold,"

"Oh, the food! Of course!"

"Mom . . ."

She heaved a sigh. "Have you spoken with Dean at all?"

"That's none of your business," I snapped.

"He's still shacking up with Lindsay, or so I've heard," she said.

My insides began to churn. "I have to go,"

"Rory, don't shut me out. Don't be mad at me because I figured you could use a break from Stars Hollow. This trip was supposed to be good for you."

"I'm having the time of my life, I swear," I said facetiously.

"Rory . . ."

"I'll call you later," I said, itching to get back inside of the room.

"You mean, Grandma will call me later," quipped Mom.

"'Bye, Mom,"

"'Bye,"

Sighing, I stared at the screen and shook my head. I still hadn't forgiven her; I wasn't sure if I ever would. But as I peered into the dining room to find Logan's eyes on me, all thoughts of my mother and our altercation fled instantaneously from my mind. I ambled back inside and took my seat between Logan and Steph.

"You look irate," observed Logan. Although I wasn't looking at him, I could sense his gaze burrowing beneath my skin.

"Do I?" I asked, finally giving in to his stare.

"Something happen, Ace?" he queried.

I shook my head and heaved a sigh. "She—my mom—she and I aren't on the best of terms right now. I'm still mad about her shipping me off with my grandmother when things went a little bad."

"What happened?" said Colin.

"Colin, don't pry," said Steph, eying me intensely.

"I'd rather not talk about it," I answered.

Logan smirked and rubbed my back reassuringly. "That's okay, Ace," he said.

I gazed at him awkwardly, the tingling of my skin beneath my sweater throwing me off a bit. "Thanks,"

About an hour later, I slumped back against my chair, satisfied.

"That was so good," I moaned.

"I've never seen a girl eat like that before," commented Logan, grinning.

"What can I say? I like food," I joked, shrugging innocently.

Colin began calculating the totals. "And we each owe . . . seventy Euros."

I reached for my bag but Logan stopped me. "I got it, Ace," he said, opening his wallet.

"Logan, you don't have to," I said, immediately feeling out of place.

"Yes, I do," he said, nodding slightly. "I invited you to dinner. I can pay for you, too."

I huffed and slumped in the chair. "I have the money," I muttered.

"I never said you didn't have the money," quipped Logan, chuckling.

"Logan . . ." I prodded, feeling a wave of defeat creeping ever so slightly over me.

"You can buy me a really crappy souvenir, if it's that much of a big deal to you," he said, grinning.

I smiled in return. "How about I buy you the freaking Coliseum?

"Deal," he snickered, and winked as he pulled a large amount of cash from the folds of his leather wallet.

The drive back to the hotel was spent chatting nonchalantly. Finn was inebriated, and Steph and Colin helped him into the hotel. Ahead of us, Logan motioned to them that they needn't wait for us, and instead, the three of them headed into an elevator.

"Dinner was great, Logan, thank you," I complimented as Logan and I approached the elevator doors. A mere instant after the button was pressed, a soft _ding_ sounded and echoed across the wide corridor. We walked inside, and the tension was abominably thick.

"No need to thank me, Ace," he commentated as the elevator began to rise.

"Ace, huh?" I mumbled, staring at him through clouded vision. "You've been calling me that all night." Logan smirked and I could feel my cheeks burn a dark shade of red. "But I get it, so it's cool."

"I think it's a suitable nickname," said Logan as he watched the elevator pass the lower floors at what seemed like a painfully slow pace.

"I like it. It's much better than Mary." I smiled and he furrowed his brows.

"Should I bother to ask?" My blue eyes locked with his hazel ones, and it was as though I was spellbound. There was something so obtrusively present in his eyes, as if he was trying to tell me his life story with them alone.

"Save yourself," I huffed.

"Okay," he said skeptically.

"But, really . . . thank you," I said, touching his arm to emphasize my point. "I needed to get away. Thanks for this whole day; not just dinner. The dinner was the icing on the cake, really." Logan turned to me a grinned. Suddenly, the elevator seemed like a much smaller space that it had previously.

"I'm glad to hear that," he said as the elevator came to an abrupt halt on my floor. The doors opened smoothly and I reluctantly approached the corridor.

"So do we part here or . . . ?" I asked rather awkwardly.

"I'll walk you to your room," offered Logan as he held the doors open by resting his back against the left side.

"You don't need to do that," I muttered, although I desperately wanted him to.

"I insist," he said.

I glanced up at him after a moment. A newfound bravery overcame my senses, and he stared at me while I contemplated an ulterior proposal. "What if I didn't want to go back just yet?" I said, my tone not quite as thorough and sound as I would have liked.

"Rory . . ."

He slumped and reached for my wrist, though I hastily pulled back. "No, okay, I get it, it's fine," I rushed.

"Rory . . ."

"No," I said, offering him a weak smile, "don't sweat it,"

Sighing, Logan moved toward me, trapping me against the elevator door. I could feel his warm breath against my face and it took all the strength I had within me not to shudder. He leaned in toward me and whispered, "If I were to kiss you, what would be your reaction?"

I closed my eyes upon hearing his voice and felt a soft smile form. "I thought you were all about the unknown," I tantalized, opening my eyes to look at him clearly.

He chuckled mellifluously and rested the palm of his hand on my cheek, leaning even further in. "Good point, Ace," he murmured, his lips chastely stroking mine. He pulled back only slightly to gaze at me. I grasped him by the shoulders and wound my fingers around his neck, delicately teasing the skin at the nape. His eyes surveyed mine and I pulled him down for another kiss, this time, fervent and enthusiastic. His tongue brushed over my bottom lip, imploring me for entrance. Our lips and tongues meshed perfectly, and I whimpered as he backed me up against the elevator wall, his slim, toned figure now flush against mine.

I moaned as he pulled back a mere breath. "Rory, we—"

I shook my head and silenced him with a hard, short kiss. "Don't ruin the moment, Logan.I drew him closer to me and pressed my body to his. His lips found mine instantly and I melted into his touch.

The elevator's distinct _ding_ reverberated throughout the enclosed space, signaling that it had reached Logan's floor. "I guess we should . . ." he mustered as he pulled a whisper of a breath away, tucking stray tendrils of hair behind my ear.

"I guess so," I murmured, eying him inquisitively, pondering his next move.

Leading me out of the elevator, he nodded toward the door at the end of the vast corridor. "That's my room,"

"I thought you had the penthouse suite?" I asked, furrowing my brows.

"There are six rooms, each with separate entryways," he said, taking hold of my hand loosely, guiding me toward the door to his room.

"Convenient," I said, quickly glancing at our entwined fingers. "Apparently, privacy is considered imperative in this hotel," I said, watching him slide the card into the appropriate holder. The spherical dot blinked green, and Logan twisted the handle, pushing the door ajar.

"You're sure you want to do this?" I stared at him for a moment, pensive. "I can understand if you wanted to back out. I would fervently object, but I would understand." He finished his statement with a chuckle and then turned serious.

"Open the door, Logan," I said with much determination. He sighed and we entered. The room was twice the size of mine and had a Victorian atmosphere to it. I took in the sight as Logan gently squeezed my hand to bring me back into reality. I pulled him down toward me and pressed my mouth to his; prying his lips open with mine. He responded immediately and embraced me, his hands gripping the fabric of my sweater.

"Ace . . ." I hushed him, pulling him bad toward the bed. "Rory, we don't have to do this."

"I want to." I pressed my mouth to his in a searing, passionate kiss. All thoughts of uncertainty fled from my brain the instant his lips touched upon mine.

"Rory," He grasped me by the shoulders and pushed me slightly backward. His lips were swollen and reddened, his eyes glazed and breathing erratic. As his hands moved up and down my forearms, he said, "I don't want you to do something you'll regret when it's over." I stared at him, silent and contemplative.

I shook my head and pressed my body flush against his. "Logan, I want you. I want _this_."

That seemed to be all the clarification he needed. Within seconds I lay on the bed with him hovering over me. The blood coursed through my veins rapidly and I could feel myself growing more and more eager at the sensation of his skin against mine. He unbuttoned my shirt and within moments, we lay clad in only our under garments. He paused to look at me once more. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure." He trailed kisses down my neck and stomach, his fingers slipping beneath my cotton underwear. "Do you have . . . ?" He reached over me and I heard a drawer slide open. I noticed the single wrapped condom between his fingers. "Okay,"

"You sound unsure." Logan's eyes roamed my face in search of uncertainties.

Suddenly, I felt horribly exposed.

"Do you not want to do this?"

"Are you kidding me?" asked Logan, smirking.

"Logan," I began with utter caution, "do you think I'd be laying here half-naked if I didn't want this?"

For a moment, he merely stared. Pinned beneath him, I could not move, save my arms and legs, which fell limp on either side of his. "Okay," he whispered, lowering his mouth to mine.

"Okay," I mumbled as our lips connected in a fervent kiss.

It all seemed to happen within an instant. His skin against mine, sticky and sweaty, my hair plastered to the sides of my face, his countenance contorted in sheer ecstasy that surely matched mine, our bodies moving together as one. I dug my fingernails into his shoulders and pulled him closer to me, crushing his chest against mine. He groaned and hissed, and I moaned, pleasure coursing through me like I had never before experienced. His hand reached beneath the blanket to grip my thigh, pulling my leg further around his waist. I whimpered at the sensation, my eyes watering and stomach tightening with every thrust. I began to fall numb, and for a moment all I could hear was our breathing, erratic and short.

Quickening his pace, he pressed his forehead against mine. I watched him, his eyes closed, mouth slightly ajar, sweat trickling down the sides of his face. I bit my lip to control the screams that implored release. He grunted and rested his palms on either side of my head, balancing above me, his hips bucking against mine in relentless fervor. His eyes opened slowly, and I stared at him, begging for a release that seemed so close but so far out of reach. I had never seen such intensity in someone's gaze before. His hazel eyes bored into my blue, and I was adrift.

I moaned and arched slightly off the bed, causing him to groan ardently. He pressed him lips fervently to mine and his tongue sought immediate entrance. The kiss was anything but sweet. It was chaotic and passionate and intense. I began to whimper, as I felt a wave of heat rush over me. Logan sensed my inevitable release and his thrusts quickened, filling me entirely. I moaned uncontrollably as my entire body tightened and quivered. My breath became hindered in my throat, and I clutched the pillows behind my head. Logan's hands found mine, and our fingers entangled, gripping tightly.

He moaned and for an instant, I saw black. I began to shudder and whimper frenziedly, crying out, although my voice was stifled. Seconds later, Logan buried his face into the crook of my neck, groaning and sighing against my skin, his fingers still forcefully gripping mine. His paced slowed until he stopped entirely, warm inside of me. He pressed a kiss to my skin and trailed a series of them to my chin, nose, forehead, and finally, my mouth. Tired and sated, I embraced him lazily, my fingers running languidly up and down his back.

After a moment, he reluctantly moved off of me and I closed my eyes. I could hear him shuffling to the bathroom, then crawling beneath the covers. His soft breath could be heard reverberating throughout the room. The back of his hand pressed languidly against mine, his fingers toying with my own.

"I should get going," I breathed, interrupting the moment, and sitting upright.

"Huh," Logan huffed contemplatively.

"What?" I asked, looking over at me, perplexed.

"Usually I'm the one skipping out after sex," he said nonchalantly. I snickered and trudged out of bed, collecting my clothes and scrappily tugging them on.

"My grandmother . . ." I trailed off, knowing those two words were enough of an excuse for my sudden departure.

"Right," he nodded.

"Nothing needs to be made out of this, you know," I said, standing before him. He sat upright and eyed me carefully. "I mean, this . . . whatever it was . . . it doesn't have to leave Italy. It doesn't even have to leave this room."

"Is that what you want?" he asked quite blatantly.

"I don't know what I want anymore, Logan," I said. "But I know you're not the commitment kind of guy. And I have enough boy troubles as it is." I stared at my feet as I waited for Logan's response.

I hardly know this guy, I thought, and I slept with him. I slept with him.

_I slept with Dean._

_I slept with a married man._

_And now I slept with a stranger._

_Not married—but still a stranger._

I looked up and caught Logan's eyes instantaneously. He seemed perplexed, as if a million questions were running rampant inside of his head.

"Steph told me about your ex-boyfriend." His words hit me like a brick, as cliché as it may sound. I could merely gape at him, wide-eyed—stunned.

"She—she _told_ you?" I strained. "I asked her not to!"

"She didn't mean any harm," rationalized Logan. "She regretted saying anything."

"So you slept with me because you felt bad for me?" I accused, stepping toward him, irate. "That's sick, Logan."

Logan stood up abruptly and it took all the will power I had within me not to stare below his waist. "I didn't sleep with you because I pitied you, Rory." He moved to his boxers, which were strew a few feet to his right in a heap on the floor and pulled them on. "Give me a little more credit than that."

"So then what the hell was I? A cheap—"

"No!" interjected Logan. "Not at all."

I heaved an exasperated sigh and ran my fingers through my hair in frustration. "I have to get out of here," I said.

"Don't be like that." He grabbed hold of my arm, though I wrenched it from his grasp, the force sending me backward by a few inches.

"Like what?" I demanded. "God, Logan, you know, there's so much you don't know about me."

Logan laughed angrily, throwing his head back in amusement. "Wasn't that part of the reason you were willing to have sex with me?"

I gawked at him and folded my arms over my stomach. "Excuse me?"

"Come on, Rory," he chided, "don't play the victim. What we did was consensual. And I don't regret it." He paused, stepping toward me. "In fact, it was incredible." His last few words were hushed, barely above a whisper. I felt the urge to fling myself into his arms and disappear into a world of lies. But the obstinacy within me would not let up. I merely shook my head and backed away, a coward.

"I have to go, Logan," I mustered, backing toward the door.

"Rory, wait," he sighed, gesticulating slightly in my direction. His eyes were so obtrusively readable; I had never before seen that in any man. They implored me to stay, though his voice remained mute.

"Sorry for all the baggage," I said, twisting the knob of the door. "I'll see you around."

_No looking back_.

Tears coursing down my cheeks, I struggled to wipe my skin clean. I crept through the common room to the bathroom, and closed the door softly behind me, slumping to the floor in a heap of snot and tears. My head pressed against the door and knees pulled to my chest, I surveyed the room: filled with my naivety and me. I looked down toward my messenger bag and clutched it. Pulling back the flap, I grabbed my cell and flipped it open.

An all-too familiar number was dialed.

When the voice answered, I choked back a sob.

"Dean . . . ?"

"Rory," he said, bemused, "is that you?"

"Hi," I said meekly, the sound of my voice concealed by tears.

"You sound like you're crying,"

"Do I?"

I could hear him sigh. I let my head hang in shame. _When did things go so wrong?_

"Why are you calling me, Rory?"

"To talk," I answered.

"It's been weeks," he said, his tone soft and tired.

"I know," I said, biting my lip in an attempt to control my sobs.

"It's seven o'clock in the morning, Rory,"

I sniffled and placed the phone against my knee while trying to gain composure. Lifting it to my ear, I muttered, "I'm sorry if I woke you."

"You didn't," he said. "I've been awake. But Lindsay's still asleep."

"Oh," I mustered.

"I have to go," he said. I nodded, although he could not see me. My face contorted into a look of sheer pain. "I'll wake Lindsay."

"My mom did say you were still with her," I managed to croak. "I didn't want to believe it."

"What did you expect me to do, Rory?" he said, his tone hard. "You ran off to Europe with your grandmother and haven't bothered to contact me at all!"

"You said it was over," I accused.

"You said you loved me."

"You said you loved me too!" I retorted. The line went silent for a moment.

He sighed. I could almost picture him pinching the bridge of his nose. "You ran away," he offered. "You ran away, Rory."

"I was practically shipped off by my mother," I countered.

"You're a grown-up. Don't blame Lorelai."

"I'm not _blaming_ anyone!" I snapped. "And I'm well-aware of my age."

"I can't do this," His tone was delicate. I suddenly felt like a porcelain doll being pushed off of a shelf.

_Crack_.

"Story of my life, these days," I mumbled, hardly noticing that the tears had ceased, leaving dull streaks along my skin.

"Rory . . ."

"No," I said, pushing myself into a standing position. "It's okay, I get it. A one-time fling, you know? Must be a forte of mine." I cringed at my own hurtful—truthful— words.

"Rory," he breathed. I fell numb.

_Break_.

"Have a nice life, Dean," I said, abruptly ending the call. I looked around the room. My mind was reeling. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. I had to get out of there. I had to leave . . . I had to . . .

_Shatter_.

I forced my legs to carry me to the elevator. I could hardly think. They led me to the top floor and I ambled hurriedly toward the door at the far end of the corridor. I knocked softly, and the door flung open a moment later. My eyes began to tear and I stepped forward into awaiting arms.

"Come here,"

"I should be so mad at you right now," I choked.

Steph pulled me into an embrace and I immediately broke down into hushed sobs.

"I have a lot of vodka in the mini-bar," she said sympathetically. The corners of my mouth arched a little.

"You're forgiven."


	2. Like Mother, Like Daughter

Gilmore Girls AU Post-SGTDM RL Rory is determined to spend her final few days in Europe without a care in the world. And when she meets four new friends, she is even more determined to keep her past and current life under wraps. But upon her return to Yale, she learns that it really is a small world, after all.

_The Gilmore Girl_

**II. Like Mother, Like Daughter . . . Like Christiane Amanpour**

I uncoordinatedly lifted the small bottle of vodka to my mouth. The translucent liquid seared my throat as it coursed down like a bitter sea of turpentine. I closed my eyes tightly as the drink traveled through my esophagus and settled within my stomach, the abundance of previously consumed alcohol already taking its toll on my slender frame. Falling gracelessly backward onto the floor, I chuckled dryly, my arms flailing at my sides creating a picturesque cross, my brown tendrils thick and knotted against the hardwood.

"You're an intriguing drunk," said Steph as she joined me on the floor. She lay down on her side and observed me thoughtfully. "Maybe giving you all that vodka wasn't the most genius idea. But I'm not a sympathetic person, and it serves you right for having sex with Logan when I warned you not to." She sighed and rested her head against her hands, folded beneath her mess of blond curls. "And having sex with a married nineteen-year-old probably wasn't in your best interest, either."

"I thought I was in love with him," I whispered pathetically. Tears welled in my eyes and I began breathing heavily. Sensing my inevitable distress, Steph abruptly sat upright and reached for a bottle of water, twisting open the plastic cap and crawling over to where I lay. Urging me silently to sit, balancing me with one arm while holding the bottle of water with her free hand, Steph placed the opening to my lips and began to slowly pour the cool liquid into my mouth.

"You're also an emotional drunk," surveyed Steph. "How wonderful it would have been to have known this ahead of time." Rolling her eyes, she watched me drink the water and snickered as bits of it trickled down my chin.

"Thanks . . ." Steph nodded and stood.

"Come on," she said, stretching out her arms for me to grasp onto. "You need to lie down." Staggering, I used Steph's grip on her hands to help me stand. Leaning against the blond's side, I groaned as she began to move toward the plush bed, and moaned louder in frustration when I noticed how identical it was to Logan's. "Don't throw up. Whatever you do–seriously–just don't throw up."

"My grandma . . ."

"You can't go back to your room this drunk," rationalized Steph, propping two pillows behind my head. "She'll notice and that'll be the end for you. Just wait it out and then sneak back in before dawn." She paused and eyed the wastebasket beneath an end table near the bed and decided to move it to the bedside instead. "You can't do anything but wait it out. And it might as well be in here where there are no married teens or trust-fund hunks." I grumbled in response and rubbed my palm against my forehead, the throbbing pain intensifying with each stroke. "You really are an interesting girl, Rory." Steph leaned in close and whispered into my ear: "But I think there's a lot you're not telling us, and not only am I audacious; but I'm also a very determined and inquisitive female."

I inhaled and winced at the sharp pain it created inside of my chest. "Logan must hate me," I muttered pitifully. Steph sighed and walked to the other side of the bed, sliding on top of it beside me. "I'd hate me if I were him."

"Logan doesn't hate you," reasoned Steph, tilting her head to the side. I watched her through clouded vision, not quite sure if it was from tears or drunkenness. "He doesn't even know you. I should go over to his room right now and murder him for sleeping with you." She heaved a sigh and stared at the ceiling, shaking her head. "I knew this would happen. The way he's been looking at you since the second we met–I should've known this would happen." She paused and turned on her side. "I don't know if you'll remember any of this when you're sober, but given the circumstances and your current state, I'll take my chances." I stared at her inquisitively, a million jumbled thoughts coursing through my mind. "Rory, Logan is one of my best friends. I've known him since grade school. But he's never had a lasting relationship with any girl. He's never had an actual relationship, to tell the truth. He never listens to me, but I'm a Psych. major, so I know what I'm talking about. He's . . . he's rich, obviously. But he's beyond my wealth. His dad is _huge is society_. Huge in the _world_, actually . . . And Logan's always been his dad's prize . . . If he was your dad, then I guess you'd understand why Logan's so screwed up."

Processing her information, I stared, a plethora of unanswered questions running rampant within my head. "He . . . he's mentioned his dad . . . before . . . What's so"–I cleared my throat–"bad about him?"

Steph chuckled dryly. "What isn't bad about that man?" she questioned aloud. "He's never thought of his son as anything but an heir to keep the corporation alive. He's a total joke, Rory. Logan is such a talented guy and Mitchum doesn't even see it. His son has so much to offer this world and Logan is rebelling, throwing his life away, just to get back at his dad. But I guess we're all guilty of doing that."

"Doing what?"

"Come on, Rory, you're a smart girl," she said. "Our parents know what's in our best interest–or they do if they're any bit good at their jobs. But at some point, we begin to resent them. And when they test us, we rebel. We run from them, and turn our heads, because we're mad; we're angry that they _do_ know what's best for us. So we throw our lives away and do everything we can to do what they desperately don't want us to, whether it's smoking pot in your high school's bathroom or dating a guy with a motorcycle. Or in Logan's case, gallivanting around the world for a year to avoid the responsibilities he knows he could easily master–and even enjoy."

"But if Logan has all this talent, why doesn't he just prove his dad wrong?" Feeling dizzy after mustering a full sentence, I groaned dramatically and sank into the mattress. Steph sniggered and I clenched my eyes shut. "Don't laugh . . ."

"Sorry," she chuckled. "Logan's dad _knows_ his son is talented. He knows Logan would do wonders for his corporation. It's a matter of Logan sucking it up and realizing that he'd probably have the time of his life in the business environment. But he's stubborn. He's stubborn and he's scared. Of what–I wish I knew."

"He jumped off . . . a bridge with me," I mustered.

"He's a daredevil, because he's avoiding life. I mean; he is constantly trudging about the world taking risks and testing limits. But I've never known someone in my life so afraid of _life_. He's all about living–but living _what_? He's Peter Pan, Rory. And he'll do anything to stay on the course toward Neverland."

"First star on the right . . . and straight on 'til morning . . ."

Silence followed and my eyes began to drift closed. "Rory, don't you dare fall asleep here."

"I'm not . . ."

As my lids became almost unbearably heavy, a soft knock could be heard on the other end of the door. "Steph, it's me . . . Are you awake?" I moaned and tried to hide my face amongst the pillows. "If you're there, I need to talk to you."

"I'll be right back," said Steph quietly. She rose from the bed and walked to the door, and opened it the slightest bit. "It's three in the morning, Logan; what do you want?"

He sighed and I could see him lean against the door, his forehead touching the wood. "I did something tonight, and . . ."

"Now isn't a good time," she whispered, pulling the door further open to allow Logan a peak inside. "She's in pretty bad shape. And I don't think it's a good idea to let you in or leave her alone–especially now. Can this wait 'til morning?"

"Is she okay?" He seemed worried.

"She will be," said Steph softly. "She's been through a lot today."

"I shouldn't have invited her along," said Logan. "I should've let her be. This is all my fault."

"No, it's not." Steph whipped around to face me. "It's not your fault," I continued.

Steph moved away from the door and allowed Logan entry. "The room reeks of alcohol." He turned to Steph. "Did you get her _drunk_?"

"She got herself drunk, Logan," said Steph in defense. "I didn't think a girl who was willing to run off with a bunch of strangers in Italy would have such a miserable alcohol tolerance."

Logan came to my side instantaneously, sitting beside me on the bed. "Rory, come on, sit up," he commanded gently, easing me off of the bed with his arms around me. "I'll help her to her room."

"Now? Her grandmother . . ."

"We need to get her to her room while she's still conscious, Steph," reasoned Logan. "If we carry her in passed out and dump her on the couch, who knows what'll happen or if her grandmother will be awake."

"Old people don't stay awake until three o'clock in the morning."

Logan heaved a sigh. I fell limp in his embrace, my head resting against his shoulder. "We need to get her to her room."

Steph glanced at me and exhaled. "Fine," she said. "But you'd better pray to God that her psychotic grandmother isn't awake when we get there."

Gently lifting me off of the bed, Logan carried me toward the door. My entire body felt as if it was on fire, an intense pain rippling through me unapologetically. I moaned and buried my head against Logan's arm. The journey from Steph's room to the floor of my room was a blur, but as Logan stood outside of the door with Steph at his side and my limp body in his arms, I couldn't help but feel incredibly naïve.

"Where's her key?" asked Logan.

Steph shrugged. "I don't know," she said. "In her pocket, probably."

"Reach in a grab it, then," bit Logan. Steph's hand slid into my back pocket and latched onto the key card. Bending down slowly, Logan propped me against the wall, my legs straight out in front of me.

"What are you doing?" said Steph in a hushed whisper.

"I'm going to sit out here with her for a bit until she's sober enough to go inside." Logan took the key from Steph and kneeled beside me, brushing stands of sweaty hair from my forehead.

"And we couldn't do this in my room, because . . ."

"Because if she passed out," began Logan, "then carrying her to her room would prove a bit difficult. And God forbid if her grandmother saw some strange man carrying her unconscious granddaughter into her hotel room–I'm too young to die." Logan sat beside me, his leg casually resting against mine. "If I can't keep her awake long enough for her to sober up, then at least she's close enough to her room so that she can walk inside and fall asleep on the couch, and then–if she's smart enough–she can make up some excuse about how she came home late and didn't want to disturb her grandmother." Logan turned to me briefly. "You catching all this, Ace?" I groaned in response.

"Should I stay, then, too?" asked Steph.

Logan shook his head and stared at me once more. "No," he said. "Go to sleep. I'll stay with her. It's fine."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure," he breathed.

Steph turned toward the elevators and then paused. "She'll be okay right?"

Logan smirked. "She will be," he said, repeating her words from before. "She seems like a tough girl, this one." Steph and turned back toward the elevators; and soon, she was gone. "You're going to be the end of me, Ace."

"I . . ."

"What made you drink light this?" Gaining strength, I pulled my knees to me chest and rested my chin against them. "I'm all for having fun and partying, and I'm guilty of finding a friend in a glass of whiskey when I'm pissed off at the world too–but you seem a lot smarter than me, Ace. And I'm not sure if I like this side of you. You're not as loquacious when you're drunk," he finished with a smirk.

I chuckled throatily. "I'm sorry for all of this," I mustered. "I was just so mad. I hate myself to being this way, but I can't seem to control it."

"Do you want me to kick his ass?"

"What?" I chuckled, turning to face him.

"Dean," he said. "Do you want me to kick his ass? 'Cause I'll do it. You just have to say the word."

"Thanks," I said. "But I'll deal with it. In fact, it's done. We're done–for good this time."

Logan sighed and leaned back against the wall. "So how are you feeling?"

"Drunk," I answered honestly. "But I think you being here, talking to me and keeping me awake, is doing wonders. So thank you,"

"Any time, Ace," he said. "Any time,"

"You know," I began, "Steph told me about you; about your dad." Logan gazed at me quizzically. "And I just wanted to let you know that I'm no expert on this matter, but I do know what it's like to feel like you're constantly disappointing your family and wanting to run away from all of it."

"You do?"

"Well, no," I said, "but my mom does. In fact, it's what she did when she gave birth to me."

"You mentioned that earlier," he muttered. "Why'd she leave?"

I shook my head. "She couldn't take it," I said. "She gave birth to me when she was sixteen, and for the first year of my life I lived with my grandparents in their mansion. But my mom couldn't take it and she left as soon as she was legal. She raised me in a small town and . . . she did a good job; I have to say. It could be worse."

Logan chuckled and nodded. "It could be," he agreed. I yawned and frowned as I realized how tired I truly was. "You feel like going inside now?"

"Honestly?" Logan peered at me inquisitively. "Not so much. But I guess I should. It's probably close to three-thirty, by now, and my grandmother will likely be up in three hours." I paused and cocked my head toward Logan. "_She's_ a morning person; _I_ am not."

"I see," he said. "Come on," He stood and reached for my hand. "I'll help you inside." I gazed at him for a moment and then took his hand, pushing myself form the floor. When I looked up and saw his face a mere inch from mine, it seemed as if all the heat within my body rose to my cheeks. "You okay?" I merely nodded. Logan turned from me to open the door, and he did so slowly, though a light creak did reverberate through the room, and I winced. "Coast is clear," he whispered dramatically.

I rolled my eyes and walked into the room, turning to see Logan standing in the doorway. I smiled languidly and folded my arms over my stomach. "Thank you, Logan," I said, nodding. "You've been really great to me."

He bowed his head for a moment, and smirked. "Well worth the trouble," he said facetiously. I chuckled and after a moment, stalked briskly forward, throwing my arms around his neck, standing on my toes to rest my head against his shoulder. His arms embraced me around my waist and held me close. I could feel his heart beating inside of his chest and his soft breath against my cheek. "You're welcome."

I backed away reluctantly and watched him move from the doorway, toward the elevators. Moving inside, I closed the door, staring at it for a moment. All thoughts of Dean strayed from my head; and what were left were thoughts of a man I hardly knew.

Sighing, I moved to the couch and slumped against it passionately. Eyes feeling heavy, I leaned back and within minutes drifted off into a dreamless slumber.

The morning came all too quickly. I struggled to lift my eyelids as a stream of unforgiving sunlight coursed through the balcony doors and shined directly on my face. I groaned as I turned to face the backrest of the couch, shielding myself from the sun. But the light dimmed suddenly as a figure stood towering over my horizontal frame.

"Where have you been?" questioned Grandma suspiciously.

I rolled over onto my other side and reluctantly sat upright. "I found the hotel's library last night," I said, remembering Logan's lie. "I lost track of time down there. I didn't want to wake you, so I fell asleep out here. I didn't realize I'd be asleep this long."

Grandma's left eye twitched–or so it seemed–and I stood, walking briskly into the bathroom. She followed me and watched as I cleansed my face and brushed my teeth. "I wouldn't have guessed an Italian library would hold English literature," she said. "And I also don't remember seeing a library in the hotel's description."

I sighed as I wiped my face dry with a towel. "Obviously there would be English literature, Grandma," I said conspicuously. "There was Italian literature, too. I mean; we're _in_ Italy. But English is one of the most spoken languages in the world."

"I see," she responded tightly. "I suppose you'll want to shower before breakfast."

"I can shower after," I said. "Just let me change and we can head out." I walked into the room and grabbed clothes from my suitcase, then headed back into the bathroom and began closing the door, when Grandma stopped me. "What?"

"Do you plan on seeing your friends again today?" she asked.

I shrugged. "I don't know." She watched me inquisitively. "I suppose I might. It depends on what we decide to do; what you've got planned."

"You didn't seem to care what I had planned last night," snapped Grandma.

"You said I could go to dinner with them," I retorted.

"You went off with them to God knows where even _before_ going to dinner, Rory." I sighed and shook my head. "Your mother used to go off, you know."

I narrowed my eyes and bit my lip. "Don't compare me to her, Grandma. I'm not her, and you know it." Grandma pursed her lips and stormed off toward her bed, sifting through her opened suitcase. I exhaled deeply and closed the bathroom door, praying that the day would end soon enough.

As we came back to the room an hour or so later, Grandma turned to me. "I'm going to skip my nap today," she said, mimicking her prank the day before. "And I'm serious this time. With you running around all over the place, I feel as if I've hardly spent enough time with you."

"We've spent the past few weeks together," I informed her.

"You'll still get your alone time, Rory," she said. "But I'm going to skip my nap today, or possibly take it later. I want to get an early start."

"Oh . . . okay," I stammered, bewildered.

"I've arranged a tour of the Coliseum," said Grandma. "Just the two of us; no interruptions like in Florence."

"That sounds nice," I replied, hoping to sound convincing.

"Have your shower, then," said Grandma as we entered the bedroom. "I'll wait in the common room." She grabbed a few brochures and a novel, and headed out of the room. This should be fun, I thought facetiously.

Grandma heaved a sigh as we made our way into the hotel room. "What a long day," she muttered. "I'll most certainly be taking my much-needed nap now." She eyed me tentatively as she spoke.

"I'm going to–"

"Have a nice time, Rory," she said monotonously, closing the door behind her and she entered our room.

I groaned in frustration and existed the suite, mumbling to myself as I made my way to the elevator. Within minutes, I stood in front of the penthouse's common room door. I knocked and waited.

"This is a surprise," said Logan upon sighting me. "What brings you here?" He looked me over and smirked. "I see you've sobered up a bit." I moaned in response and pushed passed him. "I see you left both your manners and sobriety in the States."

"I need an adventure," I said, clapping my hands together.

"An adventure?" he questioned wearily.

"Yes," I replied, nodding my head once to emphasize the matter. "An adventure. So what are you going to do about it, Logan?"

Smiling, Logan slung his arm around my shoulders and directed me toward the door. "I have a few ideas," he said. We entered the corridor and headed to the elevators.

I peered at him through perplexed eyes. "Shouldn't you tell your friends?" I asked nonchalantly, hiding my bewilderment and excitement.

He shrugged as the elevator's bell sounded and doors slid open. We stepped inside. "They can fend for themselves for a day," he said.

I smiled at him and leaned into his embrace, the feel of his fingers clutching my shoulder making my sense churn.

"You said you wanted to see the catacombs, right?"

"I did," I drawled. "I was on my way to see them until you through a Frisbee at my head." I poked his side as he chuckled throatily.

"I remember," he said with a smile.

"I would hope so," I said, "considering it happened _yesterday_."

An hour later, we walked through the dingy corridors and weaved our way in and out of the massive crowd. Logan's hand remained pressed against the small of my back, always within reach. The close proximity ignited my senses, and I could almost feel my blood heat up instantaneously as it coursed rapidly through my veins.

"God, there are so many people here," I hissed as we listened intently to a guide give the history of the site.

"It is a tourists' destination, Ace," said Logan.

"True," I nodded.

I turned my head and spotted an elderly woman holding hands with a young girl who looked no older than seven-years. Her long brown hair reminded me of my own as a child. My chest felt heavy as I watched them. I felt as if I couldn't breathe. Everything began to hit me full-force: my grandmother and her expectations, my mother and her disappointment, Dean and his betrayal, and me, in the mist of all of it.

"I have to get out of here," I whispered frantically, pulling away from Logan and rushing to the exit. Once outside, I allowed myself to finally breathe.

"Hey," Logan placed his hand upon my back and rubbed in delicate circles. I choked on a desperate laugh and turned to face him, my eyes brimming with tears. "What's wrong?"

I shook my head. "What isn't wrong, Logan?"

He eyed me intently. "I don't know what you mean," he replied, bemused.

"I'm running around Rome with four strangers, ditching a trip that was _supposed_ to involve time spent with my grandmother, and worst of all, I'm _sleeping_ with a guy I've known for twenty-four hours! Logan, we don't even know each other's last names!"

He smirked. "Would you like to know my last name?"

I exhaled, shoulders slumped; shrugging, I shook my head. "I don't know," I mustered, my hand sliding into my jeans' pocket. "Part of me thinks that would make this tryst seem more appropriate and much less taboo. But then there's this side of me that I've never had the chance to explore that is telling me to keep certain factors of this . . . _thing_ . . . between us clandestine. And for once in my life, I don't feel so ashamed hiding behind a façade of someone who isn't me."

Logan eyed me momentarily, his eyes burning with empathy and desire. His hands moved to my waist as he gripped the material of my shirt, bunching the cotton between his fingers. "Rory," he said, his voice deep and throaty. "Did you even stop to think that maybe you aren't hiding? That, maybe, _this_ person–this seemingly _new_ person–is who you truly are, but have been too afraid to show?"

I stared at him contemplatively, before running my fingers through my hair and turning my head away. "I don't know," I answered honestly. "I wish I did. I wish I knew myself better. I wish I could figure out where I'm going in life. I mean; since I was a little kid, I knew I wanted to be a journalist. It was my dream, and I would do anything to make it a reality. I wanted to be like Christiane Amanpour. I wanted to travel the world and do the craziest things and cover the most scandalous stories. And then I realized that I'm a scared, naïve girl from a small town, who dreams of making it big, yet needs to constantly be _pushed_ and _convinced_ to take the next big leap into the unknown. Being a journalist is all about uncovering the unknown, and here I am, too afraid to do something without a push and a shove from a second party. What does that say about me?"

The silence that followed chilled me to the bone, and I felt incredibly exposed and unsure. "It says that you're human," he whispered; and I whipped my head round to face him, tears that had previously burned inside of my lids now flooding over them. Pressing his forehead to mine, Logan gently rocked us from side to side as he spoke. "You're _human_, Ace. And we're aloud to screw up. We're aloud to make mistakes. And what does it matter of you're afraid and need to be pushed? In the end, you manage to overcome your fears and you trudge forward, or in some cases, leap off bridges . . ." He smiled and I couldn't help but chuckle at his attempt. I titled my head to the side, the corners of my lips arched upward. "You're beautiful and talented and smart; you should have no problem succeeding in this world."

"This from a guy whose world is being handed to him on a diamond-encrusted silver platter," I said pointedly.

"If I could trade lives with you–have that uncertainty about my future–I would do it in a heartbeat." Logan sighed and turned from me, striding a short distance away. "It isn't the easiest thing, knowing that the future of an entire corporation rests in your inexperienced hands. It's actually pretty nerve-wracking." I approached him from behind and placed my hand gently upon his shoulder. "You may not know what your future holds, Rory, but at least you've been given the chance to decide for yourself. I have to suck it up and balance the silver platter with one hand."

"Logan," I began reluctantly, "I never meant to suggest that your life is easy. I realize that there is a lot about your life that isn't something to admire."

Turning slowly toward me, Logan exhaled shakily and embraced me. "I know," he said. "I didn't mean to snap. I just . . . you may not know what you want, you may know exactly what you want–but at least you have the room and the time to decide. So bask in that freedom, Ace; because to some of us, our freedom is limited."

I nodded. "No, I know," I said hastily. "I totally understand that. I really do." Running a hand through my hair in slight frustration, I huffed as Logan smirked. "Don't smile! I know I'm a dork."

"You're not a dork," he chuckled. "You're cute, though." He chastely pressed his lips to my brow. "Do you want to head back to the hotel?"

Sighed, I said, "I should." Logan tightened his grip around my waist, his head lowering to rest against the crook of my neck placing feather-light kisses to it. "But if you keep doing that . . ."

"Sorry," snickered Logan guilty. "I'll let you go now."

"Who said anything about letting me go?" I teased dramatically. Logan grinned and covered my mouth with his in a sweet kiss. When he pulled away, I was breathless. "You're going to get me into a lot of trouble, Logan. My grandmother is expecting me no later than six."

Logan chuckled and lightly kissed my cheek. "What time is it?"

I looked down at my watch. "Five-twenty-three."

"So we're swimming in time," he said huskily as he lowered his mouth toward mine. His tongue sought entry and I immediately caved, securing my arms around his neck. He moaned as we separated, and I smiled languidly at the sensation.

"I should go," I whispered, locking eyes with Logan. "I'm usually back by now, and her nap ended hours ago."

Logan groaned and buried his face into the crook of my neck, his words muffled.

"You didn't expect me to understand a word of that, did you?" I asked, smirking.

"I said," he began as he rested his forehead against mine, "that I don't think I want to let you go just yet." I sighed. "Look, there's a chance that when you walk away from me, we'll never see each other again." I fought to conceal a frown and occupied myself by toying with the material of his shirt. "Meet me–tonight."

My head snapped up to stare at him perplexed. "Meet you?"

"After your grandmother falls asleep, sneak out," he said. "Come to my room."

I rolled my eyes. "I'm sure you can find yourself a horny Italian girl somewhere out there, Logan. You don't need me to satisfy your man-needs."

But Logan's solemn countenance did not fade. "I'm serious, Rory," he said. "After your grandmother falls asleep, come to my room. One last night,"

"I feel like I'm at your beck and call," I spoke softly, concentrating on his gentle breathing.

"And you think I don't feel like I'm under some kind of spell?" he asked. "Rory, I've known you for a day and the fact that I can't get you out of my head for even a second worries the hell out of me. Girls . . . girls have always been easy to forget, easy to leave behind–but you're different; you're special."

"Special?" I questioned, bewildered. "Like, stop eating the paste, special?"

He smirked and ran his hand along my arm. "You're beautiful, intelligent . . . you are definitely the kind of girl that a guy could settle down with . . . But me? I'm not the kind of guy a girl could settle down with. And I don't want to hurt you; but, God, Rory, I have to be with you tonight or I'm going to end up in an insane asylum."

"I'm not looking to settle down, Logan," I said, determined. "I thought I made that clear to you?"

"You say that now, but . . ."

"Logan, we're strangers. Regardless of what we know about each other's lives and each other's bodies–we're absolute strangers. And when I leave Rome tomorrow morning, we're going to be strangers all over again. So revel in what you have now, because come morning, it'll be gone."

Logan exhaled shakily and nodded. "You're right," he said. "Tomorrow morning, you're leaving. So tonight should be all about . . ." Logan's words trailed off as he placed a path of feather-light kisses to my neck.

"What if I can't get away?" I asked breathlessly.

"Try your hardest," he answered simply. "I'll wait up all night, if I have to."

I sighed and pulled away. "I should _really_ head back to the hotel, Logan."

He nodded and grasped my hand, squeezing it lightly. "Okay," he said. "Tonight?"

I stood silent for a moment before pursing my lips and nodding. "Tonight."

With that, I stalked back toward the hotel, thoughts reeling hysterically in my head of the myriad of lies and how surprisingly good they felt. For a short time, I could be whomever I chose to be, no holds barred. And it was _incredible_.

As I reluctantly walked into the suite, Grandma's stern voice sounded. "You're late, Rory," she said accusingly. "Fifteen minutes late, to be exact."

I heaved a sigh. "I know, Grandma," I said apologetically. "And I'm sorry. I lost track of time."

"You haven't lost track of time in the weeks we've been in Europe," said Grandma pointedly. "It wasn't until we arrived in Rome that you were suddenly _late_ all of the time, and running off with friends." Grandma turned to head into our room and I shook my head in exasperation as I followed her inside.

"I'm not running off with friends," I said. "I spent a few hours with them yesterday afternoon and in the evening. It couldn't have put that much of a damper on your original plans."

"Rory, of course they did," she snapped. "Do you have any idea how much work and consideration went into planning this trip for us?"

"Grandma," I sighed. "I'm grateful for the vacation; I really am. But I'm going to be twenty in the fall, and sometimes I need a little space."

"Space?" she spat. "If you needed _space_, Rory, then you shouldn't have come with me!"

"I wasn't going to say no to you!" I screeched.

"Free will does exist in this world," she said, "whether or not you realize it."

"I barely had a chance to think about it, what with my mother's desperate attempt to send me off, and the fact that you're going through a rough patch with Grandpa." Grandma fell silence at my words, and I instantly slumped. "This summer has been particularly hard for me. In fact, this last _year_ has been difficult. I'm trying to deal with it as best as I can, and as I transition from adolescence into adulthood, I'm going to make a plethora of mistakes and bad decisions. You and Mom and everyone else are going to have to come to terms with this. I'm not perfect."

"No one expects you to be perfect, Rory," said Grandma.

"Oh, come on," I drawled. "Mom gave birth at sixteen and then ran away at eighteen. I was your second chance at Lorelai Victoria Gilmore. I finished prep school; I'm in an Ivy League university and Grandpa's alma mater. Both you and my mother have filled everything about my life, from your perspective, with attempts to keep me on the right track. And I get it; no one wants me to turn out like she did: pregnant at sixteen. But I'm not sixteen anymore. I haven't been sixteen for a long time. I just . . . I need space sometimes. I need to be my own person, and not everyone's second chance."

"Fine," hissed Grandma. She turned toward the bathroom. "I'll be ready in ten minutes. You should think about putting on a fresh pair of slacks and a nice blouse." And with that, the door closed behind her with a soft _thud_.

Dinner with Grandma was full of awkward conversation. I felt remorseful and ashamed, but also exasperated and angry. She would never understand.

By eleven o'clock that evening, she was fast asleep. And by midnight, I was making my way to Logan's room. A thousand thoughts coursed through my mind, but as I approached the door, all I could think about was him.

I came to his door and knocked softly. Within an instant, it swung open to reveal Logan looking smug. "I almost didn't think you'd come," he said, smirking.

Shrugging, I walked passed him with my arms folded over my stomach. "I'm full of surprises, these days." I turned to face him and watched as his eyes traveled over my body. Suddenly feeling very exposed, I blushed furiously and looked anywhere but into his gaze. "So . . . uh . . ."

"You're nervous," he stated bluntly.

"I am not," I said defensively. _I'm petrified._

He sighed and stepped toward me, his hands resting on my hips as he hovered over me slightly, his head tilted downward, his mouth dangerously close to mine. "I've been thinking about you," he said, his voice hushed.

"Ha-have you?" I stammered, my hands coming to rest upon his forearms.

"You're quite the catch, Ace," he said, leaning forward. "Can't seem to get you out of my head . . ."

I inched toward him. "Is that so?"

His mouth touched mine and I immediately melted against him. Feeling courageous, I brushed my tongue against his bottom lip and felt strangely empowered when he moaned at the sensation. His mouth covered mine and an array of fervent kisses followed as we backed toward the bed, discarding each other's clothing along the way. Gently, he lay me down on the bed, his body covering mine. I arched against him and he groaned, pressing light kisses down my neck and across my chest and stomach.

"Logan . . ."

"Tell me to stop," he breathed. "Tell me to stop, and I will."

I could feel his warm breath on my cheek, his soft blond hair ticking my skin. Circling my arm around his back, I pulled him closer. "I don't want you to."

That was all the encouragement he seemed to need.

Moments later, our bodies connected–_unified_–I cried out in sheer ecstasy. He moved against me fervently and buried his face in the crook of my neck. "Don't . . . don't hold back . . ." I chocked out, desperate for release. I wrapped my legs tighter around his waist, urging him to move hastily within me. I could feel my stomach tighten and muscles clench around him. My heart beat wildly inside of my chest. "Lo–Lo . . . Logan!" I arched against him and he began to move fervently, working toward his own release. He gripped my shoulders as he came, sucking tenderly on the skin of my neck.

"You . . ." he trailed off.

Breathing erratic, I said, "You, what?"

"You . . . never cease to amaze me." I smiled and wrapped my arms around him as he turned over onto his back, pulling me along with him. He exhaled deeply and delicately stroked my arm with his fingers as I leaned against his shoulder.

"You weren't half bad yourself, mister," I teased, placing a chaste kiss to his neck.

"I have to get up," he said.

"Don't you dare," I threatened.

He chuckled throatily. "I'll be right back, I swear." I moaned disapprovingly, although I moved off of him, nuzzling against his pillow as he walked into the bathroom. As he came back into the bed, we stared at each other and laughed at the silence that followed his return. "What?"

"Nothing," I said, shaking my head.

"What?"

"You really don't think this situation is even the slightest bit awkward?" He furrowed his brows at my question. "I mean; we've known each other for under forty-eight hours and we've had sex twice. I don't know much about you, other than that we both have family expectations to live up to."

Logan sighed. "Rory, I don't know how to do this," he said, "I've never had to do anything but smile and mention my surname to get a girl in bed with me. And I usually don't give two craps about them afterward." My face fell at his words, and he was quick to notice. "But you're different. You're fun, and brilliant, and beautiful in the most classic way. And you're definitely nothing like the other girls I've been with. You don't care about who I am or who I'm going to be or what sort of money I'm going to inherit. You're here for the same reason I am: to escape."

I remained silent for a moment, contemplating. Turning to him, I smiled languidly. "I guess we found each other,"

Inching toward me, his hand finding my cheek, he whispered, "I guess we did."

And when he kissed me, softly at first, further igniting an already burning flame, all questions and all thoughts fled my mind, and all I could think about was the way he made me feel, so whole, so complete, so mysterious and so . . . alive.

"You should get back," he said against my mouth as we parted reluctantly.

"I know," I sighed. "But I don't want to." My vision rose to rest upon his and his blue eyes bore into mine, and I could feel my secrets slipping.

"You should go," he said with a bit more force, moving away slightly. I frowned as he did so, feeling suddenly rejected.

"Oh, okay," I stammered, moving from the bed to gather my clothing. I could feel his stare penetrating my bare back as I dressed.

Moments later, I made my way to the door. As I twisted the handle, I felt his hand latch onto my shoulder in a desperate attempt to keep me there. "Wait," he said, his voice husky and tired. I turned to face him and stared at him in utter confusion, his body clad only in boxer shorts. "One for the road." His hands cupped my face and drew me nearer, his lips covering mine, and tongue seeking entrance. I wound my arms around his back to pull him flush against me, the heat from our bodies creating an electric surge within mine.

He leaned in for more as I pulled away, stepping back to create distance between us. "I'll see you around, Logan," I said, pulling the door open. He smirked knowingly and watched me disappear behind it.

I took my time to walk back to my own room. When I got there, I tiptoed into bed carefully as not to wake Grandma. Pulling the covers over my chest to my neck, I sighed and sunk beneath the blankets, new warmth–a sort of enlightenment–flowing through my veins. Sighing despondently, I wrenched the covers off of my body, reached for my cell phone and walked to the common room.

The ringing intensified, battling my eardrum.

A click.

Silence.

"Hello?"

I sighed desperately, feeling tears well up in my eyes, burning me. I tugged lightly at my straight brown hair now slightly frizzed, sitting on the couch, dragging my knees to my chest.

"Hello?" said the tired voice with a hint of exasperation.

I began to choke on my tears, no longer able to hold them back. On the other end of the line, there was a sharp exhale.

"Rory,"

I began to bawl and lay down against the cushioning. There was a distinct buzzing in the background. The city lights shown in through the flimsy veranda curtains.

_Like mother, like daughter._

Hurt.

_I thought I was in love with him._

Lie.

_There's something you're not telling us._

Run.

_For some of us, our freedom is limited._

Fall.

_No one expects you to be perfect, Rory._

Crash.

_I'm your second chance at Lorelai Victoria Gilmore._

Burn.

_Like mother, like daughter._

"Rory?"

_Like mother_.

"Mom?" I said in a shaky breath. "I think I'm ready to talk now."


End file.
